clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

When you're not terribly old, even the littlest things can get you down.

Take, for example, the whole talking thing. You've got lots of words down! You do! But the whole concept of the letter D seems to largely elude you, and you can tell it's really bumming Dad out. So you're working on it.

Slowly.

But even worse is the walking. You're crawling like a pro, and taking steps with help, even pulling yourself up without help!

And yet.

And yet.

Not so much.

So it's best to practice this sort of thing when everybody's busy. Looking the other way.

No pressure.

Nooooooooo pressure.

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Bernard watches him, his mouth hanging open, torn between gaping like an overjoyed loon and catching Nymphadora's eye.

Anthony takes two more steps, and Bernard has to catch a laugh before it comes out.

He's doing it.

Things are different when you're used to viewing the world from the outside, or underside as was most often the case for Raph. When you're used to seeing the world around you through the television set, you've already seen more than your fair share of baby animals taking their first steps. And while this may be the first time he's ever really witnessed first-hand the first-steps of a baby human, what keeps catching his eye is the reaction of the other adults in the room.

No documentary he's ever seen ever focused on what the family around the baby was doing.

So that's what Raph's doing right now: he's keeping an eye on the momma and the daddy and the strange-sly-snartastic-uncle.

Somewhat predictably, Nymphadora's tearing up; not so much as you'd notice, really, but enough to make her eyes a little brighter than usual.

For a moment she lifts her gaze to Bernard's, and her grin widens.

Crowley, though. Crowley doesn't have anywhere to look besides the tentatively tottering Anthony, and probably wouldn't be, besides.

Slowly, as if any sudden movement will shatter the ever-so-fragile moment, dislodge the toddler and drop him back on his bum, Crowley reaches out to place his mug on the table.

Just in case.

There's a wobble, and all the air seems to fly out of the room as Bernard visibly restrains himself from kneeling, from catching, from helping his son along.

He needs to do this himself.

He glances over and catches first Raph's eye, then Nymphadora's, his eyes dry but shining, then turns to look at Crowley and Anthony, Anthony and Crowley, two names which refer to one person and two at once, two people who with their black hair and pale skin seem to be related and in fact are in every way but one.

Anthony takes three more steps and grabs Crowley's knee with a possessive "HA!" and Bernard busts out laughing, because his son just looked up at Crowley with a strange and familiar expression of amused triumph in all-too-familiar blue eyes.

Laughing, 'Dora wriggles excitedly and sort of half-hugs Raph's leg. "Knew you could do it, sweetheart. Aren't you just brilliant."

Raph was never all that fantastic with displays of affection, so the best he can do here is pat Tonks on the arm.

"Hooo boy. You're all in for it now. Splinter always said he started goin' gray the day we started walkin'."

He smirks, turning towards Bernard.

"Good thing you got that down pat, ain't it old man?"

"Eat shit," Bernard replies easily. "This is not my first toddler, turtle."

"Yeah, except the other isn't exactly one you made earlier, either."

Getting up on her knees, 'Dora scoots over towards the sofa to drop a kiss on Anthony's head, and then leans up to kiss Bernard. Just because.

Bernard kisses his wife and tips Crowley and Raph the bird at once.

That's talent.

Anthony, in the meantime, decides to taste Crowley's knee. It tastes of money.

Raph can't help but laugh. This right here? This is the essence of family. Right down to the kid drooling on what have got to be the most expensive pants in the room.

"Kid's got good taste."

Better Crowley than Raph, whose pants come with an alcohol by volume percentage.

Crowley tolerates the gnawing for a moment, in concession to Anthony's heroic efforts in making it all the way over - but only for a moment. Anthony's pleased enough to remain the centre of attention, though, that he doesn't protest being hoisted up into Crowley's lap once more.

"Now we've just gotta get him to say Daddy," 'Dora says, looking over at Anthony and snickering.

"Deeda?" chirps Anthony.

"Does it gotta be Daddy? 'Cause I'm sure we can come up with lots of other words for Bernard that are easier to say."

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